


Only those who dare may fly...

by the_Redfox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Battle of the Blackwater, Braids, Character Study, Dreams of Fire, F/M, Futurefic, Gregor Clegane's idea of sibling rivalry, Jealousy, Record store au, Sansa-centric, Shelter-AU, Snippets, The Hound is a Dog, different POVs, flowercrown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Redfox/pseuds/the_Redfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is true, she thinks. He is a murderer, a monster. Born out of hate and blood and fire, he could be right out of one of Old Nan's tales."</p><p>One-shot dump for me and my strange ideas, stranded fics, fragments of stories and so on, concerning our favourite Hound and his little bird<br/>(together, alone.. whatever I can come up with, prompts are welcomed btw, though I'm not promising anything)<br/>I tend to write the most when i shouldn't be and since my exams are just around the corner...<br/>So brace yourself for strange Oneshots from the sleep-deprived creature that is me. Critique is most welcome, as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If the sharks were people... (Sansa)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is true, she thinks. He is a murderer, a monster. Born out of hate and blood and fire, he could be right out of one of Old Nan's tales.

**Wenn die Haifische Menschen wären...**

_Zwei weiße Haie glitten grad durch deine Augen._  
_Ich schmeck das bittre Salz der See in meinem Mund._  
_Es ist noch Angst in mir, wie könnte ich auch glauben,_  
_dass dort kein Zweifel wäre unten auf dem Grund?_  
_Ich versinke. Ich ertrinke ..._

-Subway to Sally - 2000 Meilen unterm Meer - 

 

It is true, she thinks. He is a murderer, a monster. Born out of hate and blood and fire, he could be right out of one of Old Nan's tales. The scary ones Bran used to love, his and Arya's eyes shining with excitement, while she clutched her blanket tighter and suppressed a shiver.

But, a voice in the back of mind adds and it sounds feral, almost like a snarl, like him she realizes, they are all monsters here. One more vicious than the next. And all more dangerous than you.

And at least he is not making a secret out of it. He says so at every opportunity (says, but never acts on it, she has noticed lately), has a reminder written on his very skin.

(Though, she thinks, it is more like a reminder for himself that he is not the worst of them. Not by far.)

"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful."

He is like an island of truth in a sea full of liars and she is grateful for its shore, no matter how hard and unwelcoming it is, because she feels like she is drowning and no one seems to care. Instead of helping hands she feels their eyes on her, calculating, waiting. And she almost hears their whispers.

"Are you giving up? Are you broken yet? Can you go on?"

No, she wants to shout at them, no I cannot. I am tired, I am sinking!

(And yet, she does not, because there is a rocky strip of beach, full of sharp stones and shattered seashells, where she can rest from time to time.)

But she can feel the sharks lurking beneath the surface. Calculating, waiting. Just out of sight. And if she could see them, she knows they would be smiling. All teeth and no mercy (not real one at least) and sometimes she catches herself thinking that it may be better if she let them. It would not matter. It is not like someone would notice after all. There is no one left to notice.

Except, maybe there is, for every time she starts to see the shadows underwater, tastes the salt in her mouth and feels something nip at her feet ever so slightly... He is there. Somewhere. A steady presence in the shadows around her and she feels strangely reminded of Lady. Sweet little Lady, long gone, like all the others.

(She was the first hint, but she did not hear, did not listen.)

She would laugh at the comparison (if she would still know how to, but she does not), for there are probably not two creatures on this earth more different. Except they are not. Not really. A wild beast, untamed and dangerous for anyone but her, never her.

(She can almost feel Lady's teeth moving gently against her fingers without breaking the skin and then her eyes stray to the looking-glass in front of her, the scar on her lip so thin and fine that one would never spot it if not knowing where to look. But she knows and she remembers calloused fingers wiping blood away they did not spill.)

However, she still cannot bear to look at him without flinching, always staring at a point just beside his ear (the one he still has left) and she still resents his hateful nature.

(Sometimes she thinks there lies the true danger. His fury will infect her, consume her and pull her underwater with the incoming tide and she will welcome it. The shore can be treacherous in its own way she supposes.)

But she is grateful and she wishes she could thank him for... well, she is not sure. He is not kind (though telling her the truth is the kindest thing somebody has done for her in a long time). He is no knight (especially not a true one, he never fails to remind her). He certainly is not comely (and she struggles to remember why that matters). But he is there (and she tries not to get used to it, for sooner or later she will be the death of him too, like she was for Lady and her father, and then she will be alone again, a lonely seagull in a sea full of sharks) even if she has yet to figure out why. He seems to dislike her, she thinks, and the feeling is mutual.

His company is tiring, she does not like being near him. But she likes being near them even less.

Anyway, she has tried to thank him once before and the memory of what happened back then lets her shy away from the idea. So she just keeps quiet and forces a shaky smile on her lips when a sharp knock at her door announces his arrival. As always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is inspired by the shortstory of Berthold Brecht (here is an englisch and a german version of it ( http://everything2.com/title/If+the+Sharks+Were+People )  
> and the lyrics beneath are from one of my favourite StS Songs, 2000 Meilen unterm Meer (2000 Miles under the Sea)
> 
> Two white sharks just slid through your eyes  
> I can taste the sea's bitter salt in my mouth  
> There is still fear in me, how could i believe  
> that there wouldnt be any doubt down on the seabed?  
> I'm drowning, I'm sinking...
> 
> ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin


	2. Winterroses (Sandor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's no stranger to jealousy. After all he had to work hard for almost everything that other people are naturally granted. A look in the eye just to name an example, let alone someone who cared about him.
> 
> And yet... now that he has to share the only thing he always took for granted he can't help but feel irritated.

**_Winterroses_ **

_"Et tu, Brute?"_

-Shakespeare, Ceasar-

He's no stranger to jealousy. After all, he had to work hard for almost everything that other people are naturally granted. A look in the eye just to name an example, let alone someone who cared about him.

And yet... now that he has to share the only thing he always took for granted he can't help but feel irritated. He glares at the scene before him and tells himself that he is being ridiculous. That knowledge isn't making it any better.

_"Oh, aren't you a handsome fellow? You look so pretty! Good boy, gooood boooy!"_

Sansa's melodic voice is floating through the yard, making several of the servants hurrying about and even some of the guards turn their heads and stare. At least until they find themselves in the very undesirable position of the object of his lone attention. Catching his glare they all hastily turn to inspect the nearest wall with surprising interest.

There she is, the oldest daughter of Winterfell. His wife. Beautiful like sunlight glistening on fresh snow, an adoring look on her face and petting his horse. It just doesn't sit very well with him.

A net of Winterroses adorns the skillfully braided mane of the big black beast that is his mount and the little bird is about to set to work on a matching hairdo for his tail. He has never seen the damn horse more pleased.

He doesn't need to turn around to know that the little bitch Sansa calls her sister is staring at him, lips probably curled up in dark amusement. He can _feel_ it.

Seven hells, when did this happen? And how?

Sansa spots him, where he is leaning against a pillar and tries to look like this isn't bothering him at all and waves him over.

"There you are! I've been looking for you all morning. Doesn't Stranger look pretty?" She catches his expression and misreads it promptly, biting her lip. "Y-You're not angry, are you? I can open the braid if you want me to."

It's clear that she doesn't really want to, her eyes wide and blue and pleading.

He's not sure… is he angry? Not about what she thinks. No. And about the other thing? She looks so happy and her eyes are so wide and blue… How can he be angry when his little bird is enjoying herself so much? Sighing and shaking his head, he pushes off the pillar and takes a step towards her, ready to admire her handiwork, when Stranger wheels around, ears flat on his neck, and bares his teeth at him. Startled, he reels back before leaning forward again, ready to drag Sansa out of danger…

"No, Stranger no! Stop it! Bad boy. Bad, bad boy!"

Sansa gives the rope that holds the courser a firm tug and suddenly the raging monster is gone and leaves a calm and friendly pony in its wake. Gently the stallion nuzzles Sansa’s cheek and she giggles, scratching him between the eyes while Stranger throws him a death glare that rivals his own.

And he? He just stands there frozen while the little wolf-bitch laughs so loud and hard that a swarm of birds is taking flight in the nearby godswood and Sansa turns to stare at her in utter confusion.

Again he asks himself. When did this happen? And how?

He still feels a pang of jealousy.

Damn it all, that used to be _his_ horse!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ahem.. don't ask me where that came from... was heavily inspired by kashicanhaz' fic "A Girl's best Friend" (i love it, go, read it if you haven't already) and just wanted to write something with Stranger in it i think...
> 
> well... now i did XD
> 
> see you around, Mag!


	3. 'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear (AU, Sandor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She clutches the record she is currently holding to her chest and swings slowly from side to side, her head tilted to the left, humming along. He is pretty sure he has never before seen someone enjoying a song this much. And he is staring, he knows, but it seems to be impossible for him to look away and it's dark here anyways. Nobody can see him and she is just so, so... perfect.

**'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear (part 1)**

 

 _May you find happiness here._  
_(Keep your head up)_  
_(Keep your heart strong)_  
_(Keep your head up)_  
_(Keep your heart strong)_  
_May all your hopes all turn out right._

\- Ben Howard, Keep your head up-

The first time he sees her it's a sunny day, clear sky and all, and he is glad for the darkness between the shelves. His head is pounding with the aftermath of last night's drinking and if he could, he would be sleeping for a day... or maybe two, but the rent is hard to meet as it is already.

So he is here, prowling through this labyrinth of music like an especially ill-tempered Minotaur, when she and her friend enter the store.

He sees it from the corner of his eyes, a flash of red and stops in his tracks, staring. For a moment he thinks she is on fire, and it takes him a full three seconds to realize what it really is: Her hair, long and flying around her face, catching the sunlight and glowing like frickin' embers. He can't help himself, he takes a step back, back into the shadows, where it's cool and impossible to remember the heat of the fireplace all those years ago. A middle-aged woman looks at him curiously and he snarls at her, before spinning around and retreating farther.

He can't escape them though, can't escape her. Her hair draws his eye and he is not sure if it is out of masochistic fascination or because she is kinda pretty (fucking beautiful), with her long white legs and tall but slim form. He decides it has to be the former, after all, she isn't the first pretty girl (but the first this fucking beautiful) to find her way to his store.

He has owned this place for a year now, so he has learned to place most of his customers as soon as they come through the door. And these two he can place immediately as well. He suppresses an annoyed groan, just barely. Girls like her usually come in small groups, wander between the shelves while talking loudly (too loud for his hangover) about how alternative and individual they are and feel no doubt quite intellectual. In most of the cases, they leave shortly after without buying anything and complain (too fucking loudly) about the lack of new stuff of Nirvana. Doesn't he have anything after 1994?

This one stays longer than any of those chicks, though. Patiently she walks between the towering shelves, dust raining from above, and scans the records, pulling one out, glancing at it and putting it back before taking another (she puts them all back in place, he kind of likes that). She is completely silent too. Her friend, a busty brunette, at least a head smaller than her, talks all the more as if to make up for it. All the while impatiently tapping her foot on the ground, arms crossed under her breasts. If it irritates the redhead, she doesn't let it show, just nods from time to time and mumbles something he cannot hear. A full hour goes by this way and he starts to wonder what she wants here, it's a nice day outside after all. Shouldn't they be out there, shopping or whatever girls her age are doing with her time (that's right, she is a girl, he hasn't seen her face yet, only in the profile, but he must have at least 10 years on her, probably more... what makes his lurking in the shadows kind of humiliating, not to mention a good deal creepy). No matter how much time she spends in here, it will not make her any less of the empty shell she is.

But then the song changes and her head shots up. This time he sees her face and her eyes are as blue as the sky outside, two cornflowers in a field of poppies (and isn't he just being damn poetic today? Curse Jorah and his endless droning about Shakespeare. Since he met this Dany-character it's just impossible to talk without him comparing someone to summer days and the like. And now it seems to be rubbing up on him. How fucking perfect).

And then she _smiles_. His breath catches.

"Ohh, I _love_ this song!"

She clutches the record she is currently holding to her chest and swings slowly from side to side, her head tilted to the left, humming along. He is pretty sure he has never before seen someone enjoying a song this much. And he is staring, he knows, but it seems to be impossible for him to look away and it's dark here anyways. Nobody can see him and she is just so, so... _perfect_.

"Yeah? Well, that's nice and all that honey, but we've been here for ages! I'm starving. Can we go now? Pretty please? I'm sure Joff is waiting already, too. Best not keep your Prince Charming waiting, eh?"

The bubbly voice of her friend (he had completely forgotten about her) breaks the spell and snaps them out of it, her out of her swinging, him out of his staring and they both blink.

"Oh my god, you are right! I'm soo sorry Margery. That must have been terribly boring for you. I just couldn't help myself. I'll make it up to you, ok?"

She stuffs the record back (still mindful of its original , he notes) and turns. Her left strokes longingly over one of the shelves near the entry before she sighs and allows her friend to drag her out of the door.

"I'll be back.", she says to nobody in particular and he catches himself hoping that it will be soon.

XX

She is back three days later, this time without her friend. Again she wanders through the corridors, lingering here and there to have a closer look, while he watches from the shadows. It comes pretty close to hiding, which of course he is _not._  Not really at least.

It's just that he feels like this one time he ran into the woods behind their house (he spend a lot of time there after the - _incident_ , as his old man used to put it), back when he was younger. Away from the judging looks and his father's uncomfortable silence and most of all away from Gregor. His father was away, business for the Lannisters and his brother… he had a feeling he was better off not knowing. It had been a lazy, quiet day, just wandering around and enjoying his freedom. And unexpected he found himself standing on the edge of a little clearing, bathed in sunlight.

He still remembers how suddenly the young doe carefully walked out into the clearing, ears alert, and her pelt soft and shining, completely unaware of him. He froze where he stood because he knew that as soon as he moved just a little finger she would be gone. Somehow he could not bear that. This was her place and he had felt like an intruder.

And just like the doe all those years ago, the girl passes by him (again and again and again) without knowing he was ever there, leaving him breathless.

Again she leaves without buying anything. He does not mind. Not as long as she comes back.

XX

It takes her two weeks to return. Two weeks in which he does not spare her a single thought. Maybe he even forgets her. But as soon as she walks through the door he finds himself in a dark corner, eyes transfixed on her and he asks himself how, how he made it through two whole fucking weeks without seeing her.

(And if he is really true to himself, he knows that all his dreams were filled with red and blue.)

XX

She starts coming at least three times a week, exactly one hour after he opened. She never buys anything, and he wonders, what she comes here for when this place has nothing she desires. But she returns. Again and again and again and maybe, he thinks, the _why_ ain't that important.

He built this little fortress to keep the fire away and now that a little flame has found its way past its defenses he finds that he doesn't mind in the slightest. Before he knows it he finds himself waiting for her visits, at least one ear and eye at the door so he won't miss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU I started writing some time ago but never really finished 'cause I kinda run out of ideas (read: If you got soem... GIVE THEM TO MEEEEE....please!) but I thought I would post some of the stuff I've writen for it here^^ So expect some more of it, though probably with blanks in between. I tend to write different scenes and only later put them in an order that actually makes sense /fill the gabs in between.
> 
> Also, the thing about music and individuality: Didn't mean offence to anyone (if there even is anyone. But this is the internet and some people make a hobby out of being offended), but there are really some people like this (my sister for example *coughcough* .. this is also where I stole the Nirvana line...)


	4. 'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear II (AU, Sandor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime along the way he has gone from watching to observing to caring to guarding, something that made him laugh bitterly when he realized it. But old habits die hard and as long as she is here, whatever her problem is won’t reach her. He will make sure of that.   
> It takes only two days to find out that he can’t, not really that is.

**'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear (part 2)**

_Keep your head up, keep your heart strong._

_No, no, no, no._

_Keep your mind set, keep your hair long._

_Oh my darlin' keep your head up, keep your heart strong._

_Oh no no, keep your mind set in your ways, keep your hair,_

_Keep your hair long._

_'Cause I'll always remember you the same,_

_oh eyes like wild flowers, with your demons of change._

 -Ben Howard - Keep your Head up - 

 

He knows that something is wrong, as soon as she steps over the threshold. She wanders aimlessly between the shelves, barely looking at the records to her sides, just walking in circles.

He cocks his head and watches from his hiding place how she goes round and round, deep in thought. Her brow is furrowed and her front teeth are worrying her lip, something she does when she feels uneasy, he has learned over the past weeks.

(He knows he shouldn’t be knowing so much about her, without having ever spoken to her, but he doesn’t care. Instead he greedily gathers every little piece of information he can get and stores it away.)

He does not like it. His little bird should be smiling and humming, not frown and sigh like the world is about to end. For a moment he hesitates, frowning himself, then he walks to the back of the store, hastily sorting through the box with his favorites, afraid she could decide to leave before he has found the right one. He is vaguely aware that he is behaving like a bloody lovesick fool, pretty much like Jorah, he supposes (A thought that makes him cringe and almost puts his search to a stop. Almost.), but then he finds the record he’s been looking for and before he knows it he is standing in front of the stereo, changing the tape. The song that is playing is the one of the day he saw her for the very first time, the memory of her in that moment still hunting his dreams and much of his waking time as well.

(It’s almost unhealthy and it are those nights, when he is lying wide awake, breathless and sweaty, his heart still thundering, that _dog_ sounds less than the compliment he always took it and more like the insult it was meant as. Just thinking about her makes him lose control completely… but he can’t bring himself to stop, since it is all he will ever get of her. )

He bans those thoughts from his mind and returns to the front, looking for her. She is standing by the door, her head tilted, her eyes half closed. He has to fight quite hard to keep the ridiculous amount of pride he feels when a smiles stretches across her face at bay.

XXX

The smile does not stay. Most days he can make it reappear, but it’s the fact that he has to, that worries him. More and more often he finds her running in circles, head down, shoulders tense, dark shadows under her eyes. He would like to know what is eating her, but for that he would have to talk to her and somehow it seems wrong to him to abandon the shadows now, after he spend so much time with them. And why should she tell him? He knows her (at least he likes to think so) but she has never seen him. And if she were to…

So he stays where he is and does what he does. Playing music he knows she likes and watching her. Sometime along the way he has gone from watching to observing to caring to guarding, something that made him laugh bitterly when he realized it. But old habits die hard and as long as she is here, whatever her problem is won’t reach her. He will make sure of that.  

XXX

It takes only two days to find out that he can’t, not really that is.

 

XXX

Very unusually for him, he has not noticed that she had been coming today and so he frowns, when he hears a muffled sound and follows it. It comes again, a bit louder this time, and leads him straight to the darkest corner of the store. Big shelves are blocking the sunlight and he has yet to change the light bulb, which died away last week. It’s pitch black and so he almost doesn’t see her, when he rounds the corner. But he does, and almost doubles back when he catches sight of fiery red hair and the vague outline of a body, curled against the bottom of the very last shelf. Her shoulders are trembling and he is sure she is sobbing, but he only hears a strange rolling sound, sharp and angry.

She still looks like a little bird, but this one seems to have fallen out of its nest. He is about to take a step closer (how could he ignore this), when suddenly her head shots up and she stares at him. She whimpers faintly, her back pressing against the wood behind her and the rolling sound dies away. Only now he realizes that it has been his own growling. He takes a moment to glance at her trembling form and wide eyes before he takes a hasty step back, ready to flee. Because even though she is flinching away from him, of course she is, he knows he otherwise won’t be able to resist the urge to step closer. She needs someone to comfort her, but surely not him.

He is as good as gone, when a movement catches his eyes, her hand, her fragile tiny hand stretched towards him, and he hears her voice, barely above a whisper.

_“Stay, please. I.. I’m sorry. Please, just stay. “_

And so he stays, sliding down where he stands, until he sits on the floor at the other side of the dark corridor. She has stopped crying, but sadness and desperation still hang over her like heavy rain clouds he his fist clench at his sides. He has no idea what is bothering her, so there is nothing he can do (He ignores the quiet voice that tries to remind him that this is actually none of his business and that he shouldn’t bother. That he never bothered before.) . So he just stays where he is, watching, listening, until he is sure she is asleep. Only then he gets up and turns the sign at the door before he resumes his guard.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tid-bit of my Musicstore-AU and obviously some time down the line from part one. Haven't written much from Sansa's POV for that one yet, so it's pretty one-sided for now, sorry


	5. Hell is empty and all the devils are here (Sandor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wouldn't want you anyway… whispers a voice in his head. Have you forgotten already, you stupid old dog? 'Let me go', she said. 'You're scaring me', she said. Did you really think she would go with a monster like you?

**Hell is empty and all the devils are here**

_Now and forever_  
_You're just another lost soul about to be mine again_  
_See her, you'll never free her_  
_You must surrender it all_  
_In your life to meet again_

 _Fire_  
_All you desire_  
_As she begins to turn cold and run out of time_  
_You will shiver_  
_Till you deliver_  
_You will remember it all_

_Let it blow your mind again_

-Disturbed - Into the Fire - 

He does not remember how he made it down from her chamber to the stables. All he knows, is that he is suddenly on Stranger's back, his hands clutching the reigns but not controlling them. Right now he couldn't even if he wanted to and so he lets the horse choose the way. Reliable as ever it strives against the stream of people, soldiers, women, children… it does not matter. Right now they are all just part of this madness he wants to leave behind so badly.

It's raining fire, green and red alike and he wouldn't be surprised to find out that they all have died already and just didn't notice it yet. Hell can't be that different. No, fuck that. In comparison to this inferno hell must be a friggin' paradise. He can feel the heat of the fires, it's just like he remembers it, but even stronger is the memory of another heat: a soft lithe body pressed against his not even an hour ago. He curses and spurs Stranger on, the stallion obediently picking up the pace, tearing through narrow back streets and finally stepping on one of the wide main ones. He doesn't check their course, it leads away from the fires, away from the Mud Gate. That's all he cares about.

They are still so far, though. The air is filled with screams, screams and smoke and the smell of blood, and the mass of people blocking his path does not seem to end. He urges the horse forward again and indignant Stranger throws his head back, but obeys. Absently, he pats his neck with trembling fingers, a silent apology.

The battle rages around him and its roar is deafening, but he doesn't listen. His ears are filled with a thin, trembling voice singing a long forgotten melody and the faint smell of lemon and lavender still lingers in his nose. It's not enough to soothe his terror, but it lets him keep his sanity, or that what's still left of it.

Damn the Seven, he wants to go back. Go back and drag her out of her room and take her with him, but the sea has closed behind him already. It's impossible to turn back.

 _She wouldn't want you anyway_ … whispers a voice in his head.  _Have you forgotten already, you stupid old dog?_ 'Let me go',  _she said. '_ You're scaring me',  _she said. Did you really think she would go with a monster like you?_

A quiet voice, soft even, but cold and mocking like a mirror. He knows it well, this voice. It's his steady companion and no matter how loud he shouts, how much he pleads, it won't leave him alone. He has learned to ignore it, but tonight it's too strong, too powerful for him. It rises from the darkest depths of his mind where he has banned it and laughs at him.

Rage and Fear are doing battle in his chest and he lets them, so they might drown out the voice and kill the disappointment that has crept into his heart, just like  _she_  did. He was careful, so very careful, to lock it away all those years ago, that he was convinced he did not even have one. He's a murderer, a ruthless killer. He has slaughtered men and child alike for many years. He would still do. Hell, he  _is_ , cutting down everything that is too slow to make way for him, as he hurries towards the gate. But her…

The Gate of the Gods appears before him, its guards long slain and buried in the mud at Stranger's feet. They are past them in less than a heartbeat and suddenly the path is free and the horse has finally room to run, really run.

They leave it all behind, the fires, the screams, the battle. This goddamn city with its blasted liars. The Little Bird and her true knights. Everything.

But deep down he knows that that ain't true. Tomorrow, when he is finally away and terror and fury have tired each other out, the voice will still be there. Unscathed. Cold and mocking like a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Sounds kinda familiar? This was one of the first drafts for 'Wolfhound', only that I decided to follow canon here, unlike the version that finally made it into the fic.
> 
> The title is a quote by William Shakespeare btw


	6. Heaven burns (Sandor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He still dreams of fire.

**Heaven burns**

_Einen Feuersalamander_  
_hältst du dir als Wappentier_  
_Du bist Läuterung und Reinheit_  
_stehst für unstillbare Gier_  
_Aus den Haaren fallen Funken_  
_schön'res hab ich nie gesehn_  
_Aufgelöst in Rauch und Asche_  
_will ich brennend untergehn_

-Subway to Sally, Herrin des Feuers-

He still dreams of fire.

Sometimes it is nothing but a red angry glow behind his closed eyelids. He can't see it, but he  _feels_  it. A hot white pain shoots through him and he feels himself melting. The pain is so great that he wonders how he can be still alive. How can anybody be still alive when he is in so much pain? The smell of burning flesh fills his nose.  _His_  burning flesh, and it makes him sick to the stomach. Ash stirs and fills his lungs. He is burning. He is choking. And he fights to get away from the flames, away from the ashes. Away, away  _away_. He struggles and kicks, his ears ringing with a terrible, shrill sound that he only later recognizes as his own voice.

He can't get away. Can't get up. Something presses him into the flames, strong and unyielding and the more he struggles the harder it forces him down. He can feel how his neck creaks and is filled with the terrible hope that his brother will break his neck and end his agony before long. His brother.  _Gregor_.

His hand, holding him down in a vice grip, is hot too. It burns his flesh, burns itself in his skin and he is sure that will leave a mark, a mark for all to see. Flames lick at his cheeks, crawl down his throat and another sound drowns out the fearful screaming. Gregor is laughing, cold and hard and loud, so loud. It fills his ears and echoes in his head.

That's his world, a taste of ashes, a cold laugh in his ears, a hand scorching his neck and the smell of himself, burning, filling his nose.

He trembles when he wakes, feeling the bile rise and only barely manages to sit up and lean to the side before he can't hold it back anymore. His whole body cramps, cold sweat is breaking on his back. He can feel his teeth tingle and his eyes sting with tears when the acid burns his throat and nose. He retches until there is nothing left, still trembling all over, and it's only then, that he notices cool small hands drawing circles on his bare back, holding back his sweaty hair. The scent of lemon and lavender drives away the memory of burned flesh and then he feels soft lips at his temple, whispering in his ruined ear. She cradles him, rocking back and forth and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

_He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. It's ok. You are safe._

Sometimes it comes down like rain. Green and red alike it pours down on him, but not only the sky is ablaze, the ground is too and so is everything else. It seems, the world is coming to an end. His lungs are full of smoke and the smell makes his insides churn. He wants to run, to flee. Far far away, anywhere but here, but no matter where he turns, there is no escape. Only a sea of faceless shadows, blocking his path. Screaming and wailing, they reach for him. He's not sure if they want him to save or to join them but he isn't going to do either of those.

There is nothing but fear in him as he is turning in wild circles, hacks at shadows and fire alike, but his sword is useless against them. It won't save him this time.

And he begins to despair for he knows he has lost something, must find it in this chaos before it will perish in the flames, burned and broken. He's not even sure what it is, but he's needs it, hungers for it like his lungs hunger for a breath of fresh air. He snarls and growls and snaps and fights but no matter where he turns to, he can't find it. His fear is chilling as a winter's breeze. He wishes he could use it to kill the heat of the flames, but the ice inside him is so cold that it burns just like the fire that surrounds him. So he is burning inside out and outside in  _and he just can't find it._

He howls then, a long and broken sound. More hound than man. The masses fall silent and part before him, leaving a narrow path. He rushes through, the way before him ablaze, the heat crawling through the soles of his shoes, burning them away until he runs barefoot on glowing coals. The pain is white and hot but he doesn't stop, only runs faster, the shadows rushing alongside him.

Whatever his destination is, whatever is waiting for him at the end of this road, he never makes it. He has lost it.

When he wakes he is disorientated, the flames and shadows nothing but a blurred memory, dulled by repetition, but the despair inside him fresh and strong. There are tears in his eyes and he chokes on fear, feeling hollow. His lungs are gone, his heart too,  _everything_  and…

…and then there are fingers in his hair, stroking, soothing. A song in his ear, soft and reassuring. He feels lips pressed to his neck, where his pulse is thundering away and he remembers that he still has a heart, beating furiously in his chest, scared but alive. It's easier to breathe all of the sudden and when he pulls her against him, so tight that it's hard to tell where she begins and he ends, the heat of her lithe soft body chases the last of the cold inside him away.

_I'm here, Sandor. I'm here. It's ok. I'm safe._

Most of the time he dreams of another heat though. Its flames leave no marks, none visible to the eye at least. And yet it burns hotter than anything he has ever felt before. This fire can be soft and cool under his touch, glistening in the light, or blaze like the summer sun, down in the south. Red lips leave fiery trails on his skin, dainty fingers draw patterns like hot iron and soothe them with a flick of a pink little tongue. He fears it and he loves it, this fire, for its consuming him, devouring him whole and rendering helpless. He couldn't go without it anymore. But something tells him that it works both ways.

Their bodies melt into each other, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. He is shaking and can feel how she is trembling in response, just as desperate as he is. His thumbs brush over the smooth skin of her belly, up her sides, over her ribs to the underside of her breasts and he feels her nails digging into his shoulders, breaking his skin as she arches her back. Maybe there will be marks after all. He swallows her moans, breathes them in and returns them with one of his own. They are on fire and for once he doesn't mind, but welcomes it. Teeth graze his collarbone, nipping at him, before she places kisses on his neck. He leans into her, drunken on her heady smell, and holds her tight. He wants to be closer still. Needs to.

And when he wakes she is there, her long red hair falling down and framing his face, her hands on his chest and a wicked smile on her lips that clearly doesn't belong to a lady (he likes it all the more).

 _We are free, Sandor. We are free. It's ok._   _We are safe._

Maybe he has never been afraid of  _fire_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about this, so critique is most welcomed!
> 
>  
> 
> The lyrics beneath the title are from the Song "Herrin des Feuers" (Mistress of Fire) by Subway to Sally (the song of the first fic was by them as well)...
> 
> It fits Sansa really well i think, though it's probably more a song for Melisandre (but i don't like her :P) or dany (but she has no red hair)
> 
> anyway.. here is my crappy try of a translation (the original is so much better):
> 
> A fire salamander
> 
> you hold as your sigil
> 
> You're standing for reformed, pure
> 
> and unsateble greed
> 
> Sparks are falling from your hair
> 
> I've never seen anything more beautiful
> 
> Turned into smoke and ashes
> 
> I want to perish burning


	7. A Friend in this City (Sansa, AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After she had been stripped of every sense of self-worth or –respect, her soul hungered for a bit appreciation and it would be so good to come home and have someone who was genuinely happy to have her back. Dogs loved unconditionally and truly. Everybody knew that.

**A Friend in this City**

 

 _“_ _You want a friend in this city? Get a dog!”_

― Harry S. Truman

 

Sansa could feel them looking at her. Curious looks, friendly looks. Looks that were a little bit scared and those that were a bit angry. But most of all she felt the weight of the hopeful ones. Looks that said _“Pick me, I’ll be good! I’ll love you! Pick me, me, me. Please!”_

Sighing she turned and gave the attendant, who looked more and more irritated by the minute, an apologizing smile. “Sorry, I just can’t decide. There are so many of them…”

That wasn’t it, though. To Sansa, they all looked the same. Grayish white fur, soft as velvet under her fingers, and amber eyes that seemed to spill over with soulfulness. Hasty, she shoved the thought away. This here was not about Lady. This was about _forgetting_ Lady (Deep down, though, she knew she never could) and making a new start.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the impatient _taptaptap_ of the attendant’s shiny shoes on the tiled floor.

“It would be easier if You had any idea what kind of dog You would like to adopt, Miss…” She glanced at the form in her hands, “…Stark.”

A little sheepish Sansa looked at her own shoes, no high heels, like she used to wear, but Chucks. A little bit dusty but comfortable. A new beginning in every way. She was painfully aware that she was, what one would call a difficult customer, something she wasn’t used to. The old Sansa Stark was a nice and friendly person, who never made anything difficult for anyone.

 _‘And now look where that got you’_ she thought and straightened her back, raising her gaze. _‘A new beginning, remember? Better get used to being difficult.’_

 _S_ he took a deep breath and looked into the kennel to her left. It held a fuzzy little creature - all shiny brown fur and big eyes - that seemed to be about to die from excitement. A Toy Spaniel, her mind supplied while she watched as the dog barked and jumped and whined. Lady never did that. She had always been glad to see her after a long day, but you had to know her to see it. Her eyes would shine and her tail would wag ever so slightly…

“Oh, that is Margaery. Very nice dog, really. I would take her myself if I could. Excellent pedigree too. She is from the Tyrell line, very famous. Poor thing had such bad luck. We actually had found an owner for her before, after the nice young man she belonged to first died in a car accident. These streets can be tricky when it’s dark, You better be careful. Anyway, her new owner died about a month ago as well - food-poisoning of all things, would You believe it? Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here, she’s such a good soul. She’s gonna be Your best friend.”

 _‘Yeah…’_ Sansa thought observing how the little dog eagerly licked the attendant’s fingers. _‘But she is going to be everyone else’s best friend as well.’_

Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wanted her dog to love her exclusively, or at least more than anybody else. Her relationship with Joffrey had robbed her of her trust in people, but she could bring herself to trust a dog, she thought. After she had been stripped of every sense of self-worth or –respect, her soul hungered for a bit appreciation and it would be so good to come home and have someone who was genuinely happy to have her back. Dogs loved unconditionally and truly. Everybody knew that.

Turning her back at Margaery and ignoring the annoyed look on the attendant’s face Sansa peered through the bars on her right. This dog, a whippet, its coat solid black with a gray muzzle, wasn’t jumping around or whined. But he pressed his nose through the bars when Sansa crouched down before him, wagging his tail and watching her with pale gray eyes. Something about them made her feel uneasy.

“That’s Pete,” the attendant supplied, watching how it licked Sansa’s fingers. “A sly one, but harmless, really.”

Sansa just nodded, her eyes fixed on the dog. It looked… _hungry_. Somehow she had a feeling that it has nothing to do with dog food. Slowly she withdrew her hand.

“Aren’t there any more?” she asked, standing up and wiping her slick fingers on her jeans. She could feel how desperation began to creep up on her. This was the third shelter already. She only wanted to adopt a dog. A perfect dog just for her. Surely this couldn’t be so difficult? The Stark’s had always had dogs and now that she was living alone she didn’t plan on changing that. It would do her good, she thought. Being responsible for another living being.

The attendant beside her hesitated. “Well, there would be our hard cases. Those who have difficulties finding a new home, with fitting in, You know? I doubt You would want one of those though…”

Difficulties finding a new home… Sansa could relate to that. After one year with Joff, she had problems with finding a place to belong, too. After all that had been why she had decided to create one for her own in the first place. And she kind of liked the idea of taking someone in, who knew exactly how she felt.

“Actually, that sounds perfect.”

xxx

 

Sansa felt the difference as soon as she entered the last corridor. It was quiet here, the barking of the others distant and muffled. The dogs in this part of the shelter weren’t jumping or wagging their tails. Most of them weren’t even looking up as she walked by - just lying on the ground, head between their paws, and stared into space. Their hopelessness nearly broke her heart.

Those who were looking, however, observed her with a silent attentiveness that made her slightly nervous. Sometimes Lady would have a look like this too when she was watching the neighbor’s cat dozing on the fence. Waiting. Measuring.

When one of them, a gray and white bulldog, suddenly threw itself against the metal bars, growling and snapping, it was the attendant that shrieked, not her. Unfazed she followed the way down the corridor, leaving the young woman behind to calm the furious dog.

“Boros, will you stop it? Down! _Down, I said!!!_ ”

The noise had still to die down when Sansa reached the very last kennel. It was dark here, the tube above her head flickering and bathing this part of the aisle in a trembling twilight. Squinting, she stepped closer and tried to spot its inhabitant. It stood on the darkest corner of its cage, glowing eyes on her, unmoving.

It was huge, that much she could tell. Big with long shaggy fur, as dark as the shadows surrounding it. Scanning the card on the wall next to it for information she took a step closer. It didn’t hold much.

_Irish wolfhound mix, 2 years, male, black..._

No name, no history.

Sansa crouched down, one hand on the bars. The dog stood higher than her now, still watching her with an air of wary hostility. Even though she couldn’t make out any details in this twilight… If she wouldn’t have known better she would have said it was sneering at her, something she up to now had thought dogs not being capable of, only cats. What a curious creature.

Steadying herself she reached into the cage, offering her hand, hoping to lure it out of its corner. The dog shifted, but did not step any closer.

“Ah, Miss Stark. Not this one. Better take a step back.”

Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin when the attendant laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her up, gentle but firm, her voice nervous and strangely hushed. The dog threw her a side-glance so disdainful that Sansa couldn’t help but smile. Seemed like he shared her opinion of her guide (though she would have never shown it so openly. Or maybe the new Sansa would?)

Ignoring the request to step away, she turned halfway, leaning against the bars and her arms crossed.

“Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

The attendant made a face and fiddled with her clipboard.

“He’s… difficult. We got him a year ago, the police brought him in. An Eviction of one of these houses in the suburb. The house owner was wanted for assault and robbery. Well, they didn’t find him, but instead were greeted by him…” At this, she pointed at the dog who was slowly etching closer, one step at a time and still clinging to the wall. “Half starved, the poor thing. And so wild… Took four men to get him into a transport box and the vet had to narcotize him so we could get him out and do a check-up. We fed him up and he calmed down a bit after this, but there wasn’t much we could do about..well.. _this_.”

Sansa frowned when the attendant made a vague gesture towards the dog behind her without looking, her face pulled into a slight grimace. Confused she turned around, only to discover, that the occupant of the cage had stepped out of the shadows and stood only about a foot away from the bars now.

It took Sansa a moment to understand what the woman had been referring to, simply because it was so terrible, that her mind had problems to process it. “Oh my god...” she whispered, shock evident in her voice, “Oh my god, what did they _do_ to you?” And now there was not only shock but also rage on that poor creatures behalf which looked back at her with a strangely defiant expression on its face.

Its face! Eyes, gray as storm clouds, regarded her with a mixture of distrust and anger, staring at her from a destroyed, longish face. A burn scar, beginning at the left side of its neck, covered a good part of the dog’s face, its left ear almost completely burned away as was the fur at this side of its head. Gnarled flesh, black and red, twisted itself, distorting the shape of its head into something that reminded Sansa of a melting candle. With a gasp, she realized that this was what most likely happened.

The dog duck its head slightly, turning sideways as if to hide the scar, and only now she noticed that the damage did not stop there. The shaggy black fur was crisscrossed by a mass of scars, the shoulders, its back…

Whirling, she faced the attendant, who seemed oddly focused on anything but the dog. “What happened?”, Sansa all but demanded, startling the young woman with her suddenly fierce tone. Shuffling her feet, she fumbled with her clipboard before answering, her gaze straying back and forth between Sansa, the ceiling, the floor, anything but the dog, who had all his attention still focused on them, even though he avoided to face them head on.

“Well, You remember how I told You about his former owner? It seems he was some big-shot when it came to dogfighting… that’s where he got the ragged ones at his legs. We are not exactly sure, what caused …the scar on his face.. but the other wounds are most likely the result of being hit repeatedly with something… like a crop maybe…or a stick. To make him angry and put up a better fight, most likely. There are more burn scars too. Cigarettes probably.” She pointed and the dogs flank and Sansa crouched down again, squinting her eyes.

Indeed, there were holes in the dog’s coarse dark coat, almost as if somebody had tried to draw a pattern. Sansa tasted bile in her throat and forced it down. The dog was looking at her again, almost as if challenging her to turn away from him in disgust.

 _‘Like everyone else does’_ , she realized, glancing at the woman at her side who made a big show of checking her notes.

 _‘Like everyone did, when it became clear that Joff didn't want you anymore’_ , she added in her mind and returned her attention to the dog, taking him in completely.

His face was a ruin, the scar making it hard to focus on anything else, but his gray eyes held an intelligence she found intriguing and the way he held himself spoke more of defense than aggression. She could see his nose twitching in her direction, his one ear flicking, when she began to mumble soothingly under her breath, offering her hand once more. He sniffed, eying her hand distrustfully.

“Probably should have put him down the moment we got him. Would have been the kinder thing to do, really. I don’t think we will ever find someone for this one. I usually don’t say things like that, but this one is an ill-tempered, unpredictable monster. Only knows how to fight and…” continued the attendant oblivious to her advances, still looking at her papers.

Sansa tuned her out and moved closer, slowly, carefully keeping an eye on him. Under his coarse, scarred pelt she could see his muscles twitch, hinting on strength and speed. And fast he was. She had not even begun to retract her hand when he lunged. Sharp white teeth flashed and a ferocious snarl echoed in the small place, making her catch her breath despite herself. The attendant shrieked once again, yelling at her to move away, and after a moment she complied, but slowly and with a smile on her face.

Because while he could have easily swallowed her hand full… he had decided to stop an inch or two before his teeth would have met her fingers. A warning, not a killing attempt.

She looked him over once more. He certainly was not cute, like Margaery for example, and definitely not _nice_. Neither did he possess the same quiet friendliness that Lady used to radiate. This one here would take quite a bit of work, his trust would not be earned easily, but Sansa found that she did not want it any other way. Something told her that he could be a quite reliable and interesting companion, if someone would only give him the time to actually find out who he was under all that anger and _fear_. Everyone saw the scars and concluded that he had to be some wild, untamed beast… which probably was, which he had to be in order to survive. Until now.

“… so really, I think your best option would be Margaery. Or Pete, he seemed quite taken with you. Do you want to take another look at them? I could…”

“No”, interrupted Sansa and flashed the stunned attendant her most brilliant smile. “No, I’m not taking any of those. This one will be perfect!” She glanced at the dog, who had retreated a bit after his outburst and eyed her now with something that may have passed as curiosity. “Right…Sandor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And they lived happily ever after *coughcough*
> 
> ...This idea began when i wrote the prologue to Wolfhound, but unfortunately I could not really do it justice, I fear. (the fact that I know next to nothing about dogs and shelters did not really help...) So yeah, some 'what if we take King Robert's suggestion a little bit more literally?'
> 
> (Sansa should probably invest in an muzzle and Joff may train his tree-climbing abilities... Someting tells me that Nymeria's attack will seem like a cute little puppy gnawing on your shoes in comparison to Sandor defending his little mistress)


	8. Snippets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is as good as he is bad and doesn’t the darkness always have the urge to stain the light? It was only natural, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...that was a rather long absence on my part. sorry for that. Life has a way of getting.. well.. in the way.  
>  I have a major case of writers block (ask my universaty professors.. they don't really know what to do with me right now it seems) so this is not a complete oneshot rather than a couple of random scenes and fragments (again) I scribbled down over the past two years.

 

She can still hear the sound of claws clicking on stone sometimes. It’s all in her memory, perfectly conserved, and assaults her when she expects it the least. When she walks down the aisle to the throne for example, or when she rushes through the corridors, seeking the solitude of her chambers… It’s suddenly there, matching her pace, totally in sync and she can almost feel the reassuring warmth of her loyal companion’s body brushing against her leg.

But when she looks at her side there is nothing and she chokes on a strangled sob, her fists clenching in a desperate attempt to keep it down down down.

 

_I am sorry Lady, I am so sorry._

**oOo0oOo**

“Dogs are manmade creatures, girl. Of course they are violent,” he snarls into her ear.

(Yes, they sure are violent. But at least they are not cruel, like cats.)

**oOo0oOo**

His family has come a long way they say. However, he’s not so sure if it was a change for the better… Instead of tending to the Lannister’s dogs he became a hound himself. And lately, his collar seems to become heavier, the chain shorter and shorter.

(It’s all because of her. That, he is sure of.)

**oOo0oOo**

 

Heaven is burning, she thinks that night after she composed herself, the coat still around her shoulders. It is burning and if she is lucky it will come crashing done, taking it all away.

(It does not. She did not really expect it to. It has been a long time since somebody listened to her pleas.)

**oOo0oOo**

 

He struggles to remember when she started to matter. He only knows that suddenly she did and he found himself thinking, saying, doing foolish things, completely helpless against the force that is Sansa Stark.

But she didn’t listen to a single thing he said. Didn’t see a fucking thing he did. And certainly has no idea what he is thinking about.

(That or the late Lord Stark’s proper little Lady is a lot less of the proper little Lady she makes everyone believe she is.)

Again and again, he tried to tell her to stay away from the boy. To open her eyes and use that pretty head of hers. But she only looked at his face and did not hear his voice. And he snarls at himself for his foolish, foolish thoughts more befitting of a boy half his age.

(He ignores the mocking whisper in the back of his head, telling him that even then he would still be older than her.)

He should have known better.

And yet he still dreams vivid dreams of red and blue and a song sung just for him.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe it was her inability to lie, that draw him to her like a moth to the flame. Her pureness. Real pureness. If there is any innocence left in this world it carries the name of Sansa Stark.

She is as good as he is bad and doesn’t the darkness always have the urge to stain the light? It was only natural, really.

And it had been worth it.

Until you got burned, old stupid dog, he thinks. Until you got burned again…

 

**oOo0oOo**

 

‘Look at me’ he would demand of her. Again and again. ‘Look at me!’

(But what he really meant was ‘See me. See me for who I really am and tell me that I’m not a monster. Tell me you are not afraid of me.’)

 

**oOo0oOo**

 

She feels their absence like a void in her chest. A steady glaring hole in what used to be her perfectly written out life.

She struggles to comprehend that her family is gone, that all of them are gone and that they are never coming back. And sometimes she just forgets it. Because it doesn’t make any sense. Because it is just so ridiculous. Why would they go and leave her behind?

She has to stop herself from asking people if they are _sure_. Because how can they be gone and the world and everyone in it just carries on? Sure, it is slowly spiraling out of control (or is it just her?) but how can it go on without them, without pausing for the briefest moment and noticing that something is wrong, that something is glaringly missing?

No… there has to be some mistake. Someone must have made a mistake.

( _‘And someone did’_ , a cruel voice calls in her head. _‘You. It was you. You sold them out, all of them. For a stupid little fantasy and a false smile._ )

She is on her own now. And that is her own fault too.

(As is everything. _Everything_.)

So she allows the ice to fill her whole, to run in her veins and replace her heart.

(It will not do her any good here.)

She cages the little stupid girl she used to be in a prison of ice, deep deep in her mind where her darkest thoughts reside, and builds a shining shield, an entire castle wall, out of the rest. It reflects the words, the looks and the thoughts with a blinding smile and eyes like steel. Nobody notices.

(But she cannot help but think that _he_ would have. The Hound would have known right away. She wonders if he would be proud.)


	9. 'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear (part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…Serves the motherfucker right.”

**'Cause you're the only Song I want to hear (part 3)**

  
_And I hope that you die_   
_And your death'll come soon_   
_I will follow your casket_   
_In the pale afternoon_   
_And I'll watch while you're lowered_   
_Down to your deathbed_   
_And I'll stand over your grave_   
_'Til I'm sure that you're dead._   


 

\- Bob Dylan, Masters of War - 

 

 

 

He feels a bit ridiculous to have driven out here only to look at a rock, but he had to see. Had to make sure this shadow of his past is buried. His stares at the plain, naked tombstone that marks his brother’s grave, at the ground in front of it, where the earth is still showing signs of disturbance, but grass and weeds are already reclaiming it. He was not here for it, no one was – not one for friends, his brother, but standing here, Sandor is sure of it anyway. He can feel it in his bones:  Gregor is dead.

He always knew this would happen sooner or later. But he had not expected it to happen like this. A well placed knife in a barfight maybe. A bullet through the head at the end of dark alley. An overdose perhaps? Or even a cracked skull due to too much alcohol. All plausible, if you knew Gregor.

But burning out in his own car, after having a stroke…

“…Serves the motherfucker right.”

“Don’t speak ill about the dead, son“, says the priest absentmindedly and Sandor glances briefly at the old man standing beside him and gives a reluctant nod. What’s the point of insulting Gregor if the bastard can’t even hear him? Though he suspects, that’s not what the priest meant. Not that he seems to give a damn either way and neither does Sandor.

He stares for a few seconds longer. He’s not sure what kind of revelation he expected. It does not matter, because it does not come anyway. Instead of relief he just feels tired. 

Another nod at the priest and he turns away, leaving the stone and the grave and the body rotting six feet under behind.

He wonders if Sansa has been in, the last few days. If she noticed he was gone…

 

_A/N: Of course she has. Though she is not sure what to make of your substitute:_

 

 

It’s easy, liking Bronn. He seems to be easy going... always in good spirits. Though she can’t shake the lingering feel of some kind of hidden danger when she talks to him, his grin wide and easy.

(Not like Sandor’s. You have to _earn_ those.)

She wonders if this is how Alice felt, talking to the Cheshire Cat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... very odd snippet this one.. dunno where it (or rather they) came from. But here is another bit of that infamous record store AU


End file.
